


Connubiality

by ishougen



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Abigail is rly smart, Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Hannibal is an eternal gentleman, Kink Meme, Marriage, Marriage of Convenience, Wedding Night, Will is kinda naive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-14
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-14 22:44:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/842216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishougen/pseuds/ishougen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Done as a prompt fill on the Hannibal kink meme - not beta'd/etc. (aka the prompt that made me realize how much I like Hannibal/Abigail)</p><p>"I need nervous young bride Abigail wed to genteel and mysterious older man Hannibal. I need it like I need air. No preference for why or how, just make it happen kink meme, I'm counting on you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was almost time. Abigail stood before the mirror, taking in her handmaidens' work with an impassive eye. They had certainly outdone themselves today; Abigail could not remember ever looking so perfect. Her dark hair had been set into a long braid which trailed down her back, the jewels around her neck shone brightly and gave her face a warm, healthy glow, and the impeccably-white dress hugged her breasts and waist before blossoming out into a multitude of light, fluffy layers. It was as though she had become a doll. The image matched her current emotional compass and drew a a short, humourless laugh from her alabaster throat.

A quiet knock sounded and she turned to see her godfather slip into the room, his own expression contorted with a subtle, nervous tension. "You look beautiful," he said, and she knew his words were sincere. He'd always had trouble with lying.

"Do I really have to do this?" she asked, turning back to the mirror and watching as he came up behind her, his face shifting noticeably as he attempted to fill the role of the firm, yet caring, father.

He met her gaze in the reflective surface and said seriously, "Dr. Lecter is giving us a wonderful opportunity, Abigail." He placed his hand on her bare shoulder and squeezed gently. She attempted a smile; while her godfather's attempts at comfort were never successful, they were nevertheless appreciated.

There was another knock at the door and an attendant poked his head in. "The ceremony will begin shortly," he said, his voice brisk and devoid of affection. "Please take your places, Miss Abigail, Mr. Graham."

The two exchanged a look in the mirror before exiting the room. Abigail looped her arm through Will's and adjusted the glittering tiara in her hair ("it highlights your youth", the jewelry merchant, Ms. Lounds, had told her) and tried to hide the fact that she was trembling. One of her handmaidens came to stand behind her and lifted the train of her dress delicately, shooting Abigail a smile which was not returned.

The music began and the large mahogany doors were pulled open; Abigail and Will advanced; there had been no need for a wedding party, as neither bride nor groom possessed any mutual friends aside from Will. The guests rose on either side as they passed, but their looks of delight and tears of joy barely registered in Abigail's mind. Her attention was unequivocally focused on the man who awaited her at the end of the aisle, the man she was about to promise herself to, til death do they part.

He was very handsome, as always. His suit was more solemn than usual, which Abigail took to be representative of their impending matrimony. He radiated that same stability he always seemed to carry along with him, his spine straight and his shoulders squared. Abigail could not read his expression, but his eyes were clear and sharp, like daggers. She wondered briefly if there was a poison there she could not detect, would never know of, until it had pierced her heart; but then Will was squeezing her arm and drifting away and she had been left standing there in front of her fiancé with no one left between them.

As the priest began to read Abigail could not tear her eyes away from those of the genteel man facing her. Memories of their meeting and the arrangement filled her mind and soon everything was a dull hum, mere background noise to the images playing out inside of her skull.

The offer had come soon after her father's death - her real father, not Will, who had been there at the time and had immediately taken her under his protection. Just as she had acquiesced to Will's need to defend her from horrors which did not exist, Abigail had also given in to Hannibal's request rather quickly.

"His name is well-respected," Will had told her after that fateful meeting. "He's an accomplished surgeon and has a large home, along with a considerable surplus of other assets." An unspoken thought passed between them then: he was the best offer Abigail could ever hope to expect. Having a murderer for a father did not do much for one's marriage prospects.

After a moment, Will had added in a quiet, almost sympathetic tone, "He must be lonely in that big house of his."

Abigail hadn't cared for Dr. Lecter's home, nor his assets. She hadn't even really cared for him up until now. He was always polite and courteous, ever the gentleman, but from the first time she had caught his eye she had sensed something dark lurking beneath that polished veneer. She knew Will would not see until it was too late. It was clear only to her, like a deer in the woods. Not a shy, inexperienced fawn, but a stag, one with the instinct to hide itself and remain still, even with the muzzle of a gun trained upon it.

Dr. Lecter was not the prey; he was the adversary. Yet, somehow, he was also an equal.

"...wedded husband?" came the priest's voice, and Abigail felt her eyes widen only enough for her fiancé to see. As she spoke the words, the inevitable "I do," she could have sworn he winked at her.

The kiss came swiftly, far more swiftly than she had anticipated. She had barely begun to process the guests' applause before Lecter's palm was on her cheek, smooth and cool, and he had leaned in to press his lips to hers. It was chaste and respectful and clean, the merest brush of skin against skin. They did not close their eyes. In that instant, Abigail knew she had been found by a man much like herself.

She would not be his doll. She would be his wife.


	2. Chapter 2

After the ceremony, everything passed in a blur. Abigail felt herself being passed around, kissed on the cheek and hand, her dress whirling as she turned to and fro to accept well-wishes. The dinner was delicious, of course, but her tastebuds seemed to have dried up; as she ate dispassionately, she couldn't help but feel as though Hannibal were judging her, so she tried to smile a little and make happy little sounds. Though he hadn't seemed convinced, he had at least left her alone.

The guests slowly began to trickle out, which signalled the end of the party. Abigail endured a last round of congratulations before heading for the staircase, where Will gave her one last embrace before she slipped upstairs. He told her to write and to be a good girl and to remember to come home for Christmas; it hurt her heart to leave him. He had looked so much like a small, kicked animal that she couldn't help but compare him to his dogs. She hoped he would be happy with them.

Hannibal's chambers were large and ostentatious; everything was dark, from the wood to the carpet to the wallpaper, and the bed was an impressive four-posted affair which came up to Abigail's waist. After Hannibal closed and locked the door, there was a long, tense moment between them; then, without speaking, he came over to remove her jewelry, handling each item with the utmost care. After she was freed of the diamonds he moved to stand behind her; his hands were strong and steady as they worked open the buttons of her dress, slowly exposing her creamy skin.

Abigail could feel herself trembling and, try as she might, she could not stop it. When she stepped out of her dress Hannibal caught her arm, his grip firm yet gentle, and he motioned with his head towards the bed. With a small nod, Abigail did as she was told and climbed atop the mass of plush, silken cloth.

She sat back against the headboard and watched shyly as Hannibal began to undress. It relieved her to see him take this matter into her own hands; she was not familiar with men's clothing, and did not wish to embarrass herself any more than was necessary. Hannibal removed his jacket and tie, then unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it off, revealing a muscular frame Abigail had expected but was nonetheless impressed by. He turned towards her with a small smirk and she smiled weakly in return before dropping her eyes to her lap.

When she wasn't looking Hannibal divested himself of the remainder of his clothing; Abigail only realized he had finished when he joined her on the bed, his nude body filling her vision entirely. Her cheeks went scarlet and she tried not to close her eyes, but he seemed to sense her nerves and leaned in to kiss her, very gently, the way he had earlier. It was reassuring gesture, and while she still felt jittery Abigail knew this would not be as terrible as she had anticipated.

His fingers caught the hem of her undershirt and he tugged it upwards, leaving her hair tousled. Then, with slow, practiced movements, he reached around her ribcage to unclasp the hooks of her bustier. The material was dropped with some care on a chair next to the bed.

Abigail could not help but cover herself with her arms. Hannibal, however, pressed another kiss to her lips and wrapped his fingers around her wrists in order to pull her arms away.

"I would like to see you," he murmured, and Abigail felt her body heat up considerably as she listened to his intimate tone. She tried to relax a little, and he released her wrists, his fingers reaching up to curl into the fabric of her underpants. She lifted her hips and the material slid off, revealing her completely.

She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a few deep breaths. The faint touch of Hannibal's fingers against her abdomen made her gasp, and as he trailed his hand lower she couldn't help but let out a soft, curious sort of sound. When she reopened her eyes he was watching her, gauging her reaction. He smiled again and whispered, "You are quite beautiful, Abigail."

He said her name unlike anyone else, and it made her shift a little against the sheets. She had become filled with a strange new emotion, a deep-seated need that burned in her stomach and sent tendrils of heat through her limbs, to the very tips of her fingers and toes.

He slid his hand lower, his palm pressing against her inner thighs, and she parted them obligingly. This made his smile widen marginally, which in turn made her flush a darker shade of red. Hannibal moved his hand upwards and a wet sound broke the silence between them; he had pressed a digit against her slit and drawn it upwards, parting the folds as one would a flower about to bloom. There was a hint of impatience in his eyes now and Abigail understood suddenly what Will had meant when he'd said Hannibal was lonely.

He pressed a finger inside and she gasped, her eyes going wide and then clenching shut as a spike of pain rippled through her, but it was over quickly and soon replaced by a warm, pleasurable sensation as Hannibal slowly pressed further inside, then drew out again. He repeated the motion in a slow rhythm until Abigail had begun to move her hips in response, then added a second, all the while watching the girl's face.

She was beginning to know pleasure, that sheer ecstasy of the body, and the changes it wrought upon her porcelain face was endlessly fascinating.

It wasn't long before she had begun to moan, albeit very quietly and in a self-conscious manner. Hannibal drew his hand back and clasped Abigail's hips, pulling her down onto the bed and placing himself between her legs. He could smell her excitement and fear and decided he would go over her more carefully later. Their first time would mark his new possession of her, his control, even while it made her feel closer to him than anyone else in her life.

The first press of his length into her slick passage made Abigail cry out. His fingers had not quite prepared her for this, for the girth and weight and heat of this extension of his body, and she needed time to adjust. He gave her as much as he could before he began to thrust, his hips moving in small rotations, his fingers seeking hers and squeezing her hand.

Abigail could feel herself clenching around her husband, her body responding naturally to his, and the connection they had made during their first kiss seemed suddenly to explode into something tangible. As he picked up speed she wrapped her arms around his neck, muffling her cries against his sweat-slicked shoulder; he tasted good, she thought vaguely, as his grunts filled her ear. She found herself looking forward to the nights to come even before this night had ended.

Near the end she felt herself beginning to tighten around him, and he must have felt it as well because he slipped a hand between their bodies and pressed expertly on the small nub just above her entrance. A shock unlike anything Abigail had felt before shot through her body and she heard herself cry out, shuddering at the intensity of it. Hannibal chuckled in her hair before he, too, began to shudder, and suddenly there was a strange wetness filling her in spurts and Hannibal was groaning between deep, ragged breaths.

As he pulled out and away Abigail whimpered; he reached up to press a kiss to her cheek, his lips curled into a smile. She looked down and saw a thick, whitish fluid slipping out of her; Hannibal pressed two fingers against her, coating them in the foreign liquid, but when he tried to enter her with the digits she let out a pained sound and he stopped. She was very sensitive, more than she had ever been, and the pleasure of his touch was not enough to overcome the overstimulation. She prayed it would go away sooner rather than later.

As Hannibal lay down next to her, she couldn't help but murmur shyly, "Was that alright for you, Doctor Lecter?"

Her husband let out a soft, affectionate laugh and brushed a strand of hair away from her eyes before he replied, "It was quite alright. And please, call me Hannibal."

As Abigail drifted off to sleep, a thought stirred within the depths of Hannibal's mind. She really was pretty child - but, more than that, she was intelligent. With a little work, she would become a wonderful addition to his home. His own eyelids closed slowly, concealing the poison held within those inimitable orbs. Hannibal would hide it for a while longer; it wasn't needed just yet.


End file.
